


worn out shoes

by erremin, wormwood (pides)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American Sirius, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mutual Pining, Smoking, Stoner Remus, Trans Remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erremin/pseuds/erremin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pides/pseuds/wormwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius moves from Omaha, Nebraska to Derbyshire, England to live with his long-term internet friend, James. There, he meets the sardonic and beautiful Remus Lupin and quickly becomes obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. england

**Author's Note:**

> hey nerds, here it is! the 'stoner trans remus meets baffled american sirius at university' fic.  
> thank you to everyone that encouraged this and made it possible; i realise this first chapter is short, i'm sort of getting used to writing all over again so let's see how this goes.
> 
> shout-outs to my wonderful partner and co-writer, [effie](http://cosettx.tumblr.com), and to everyone who helped proof-read and critique this (especially to [lex](http://softgrantaire.tumblr.com) and [eithne](http://theofficialvladimirputin.tumblr.com) who are actual real-life nebraskans). 
> 
> [come and say hi on tumblr](http://pides.tumblr.com), i'd love to hear your thoughts and i really hope you all enjoy!

Sirius feels his stomach churn and prays, for the hundredth time, for the journey to end. James' sputtering Nissan Micra is small but well-meaning, which is more than can be said for James' driving. Sirius had been warned at the airport that the roads in England would be nothing like the wide, straight roads that he was used to in Omaha. What he hadn't anticipated was that the narrow, meandering roads would be tackled by a vehicle that is essentially a toaster and a student whose driving license should have been revoked years ago.

He swallows thickly and closes his eyes. James is talking, incessantly and animatedly. Sirius can't bring himself to blame him and feels a twinge of guilt that he can't currently reciprocate the excitement, too focused on retaining the contents of his stomach. This day has been in the planning for over a year and despite the nausea, Sirius smiles. After being friends online for over three years and with the instability of Sirius' home situation, James had offered Sirius the spare room in his terraced house.

It seems like a good opportunity. Sirius needs to get away from Nebraska (and more importantly, his family), and James needs a new housemate. So far, all that Sirius has concluded about Derby is that is it very grey. The same, it seems, can be said for the whole of England, including James' Micra.

 "I have to show you the Peak District at some point, mate. The only good thing Derbyshire has to offer. Bet you've never seen a real hill in your life, have you?" James rambles, and Sirius cracks open an eye to give him an indignant stare. He doesn't have time to quip back as James pulls - finally - into a tight driveway, braking forcibly. He bounces out of the car and goes to retrieve Sirius' things out of the back, while Sirius wobbles upright and gives himself a few moments to recompose.

 James' house is as small as his car, red-brick and terraced. The window in the blue front door has been boarded up from inside and the tiny lawn next to the driveway is overgrown. James catches the look on Sirius' face and immediately claims that the place has a 'unique charm to it'.

 They make their way inside. James doesn’t bother to take off his shoes so Sirius doesn’t either, lugging his suitcase into the living room. James tells him to unpack later and so the pair of them flop down onto the worn sofa, putting up their feet. It feels strange to be here with James Potter, in the flesh, after three years of knowing him. They’ve met once before when James visited America, but now they’re going to be actually _living together_ and it seems like a huge leap into the unknown. Sirius hopes for the best and James has never let him down before.

 Until lunch time, apparently.

 Sirius looks expectantly into James’ open fridge to be greeted only by a blank expanse of white plastic. James pulls a face.

“I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about you getting here, I forgot to buy anything to eat,” he admits with an easy shrug, a hand leaping to his hair to run through it, leaving it even more tousled than it was before.

 “Well, where do Derbyshirians shop, Potter?” Sirius shoves his hands into his pockets, grinning. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s practically starving at this point, having not eaten since before his flight to East Midlands Airport, but the prospect of trying proper English cuisine is so tempting.

 “We’ve got a Tesco about two minutes away, usually stop there after lectures.”

 “That’s a superstore, right?”

 “Super _market_ , Black. You sound like a tourist.”

 Sirius waves him off with a snort, trudging towards the door, pointedly. James takes the hint and grabs his car keys again. Sirius stops him, with the prospect of getting back into the Nissan Micra looming over them.

 “Let’s walk it.”

 

*****

 

Apparently, Tesco is just a very English Walmart. James seems to know what kind of direction he’s heading in, so Sirius just follows obediently, taking in the bizarre British brands and only recognising a few of them. It’s cleaner than Walmart, and the employees actually force a smile and look only _slightly_ inconvenienced when someone asks them for help.

 “What do you fancy, then, Black?” James asks, stood dead in the middle of an aisle, and clearly irritating a woman with three kids in an oversized pushchair, who has to veer off-course around him to get by.

 “Show me only the best England has to offer,” Sirius replies, smiling apologetically at the mother as she huffs past them, her smallest spawn starting to squawk and pointing excitedly at his ponytail.

 James marches off in a random direction, so Sirius trudges after him. The pile in James’ basket slowly grows, nothing in the basket looking particularly appetising. James buys him Twinkies and suggest they have hamburgers for dinner, so that Sirius ‘feels more at home’. As they walk, James rambles.

“You’ve got to meet Frank and Alice, they’re hilarious, you’d like them,” he stuffs a tube of Pringles into their basket, “and Arthur is having a house party later this week, so we’re going to that.”

“I have no idea who any of these people are,” Sirius raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Well, they know who you are, mate, so you best be prepared. Tell you what, get a bus to campus tomorrow and meet me after my lectures. I’ll show you around.”

Sirius thinks the idea of leaving him to his own devices this early on is somewhat risky, but James has always been one to throw them both in at the deep end. 

They return back to the house by bus, so that James can show Sirius the route to campus, and they spend the evening watching Netflix and eating their burgers. He feels at home here; warm, despite the house's poor insulation. He is used to immense corridors and high black walls, and even the damp in the corners of his bedroom cannot sway the appreciation and fondness he is already feeling for the place. He befriends a spider on the windowsill and names it 'Lisa', watching the traffic go by his window and smiling to himself. 

 

*****

 

It turns out that James’ university campus is nice. _Really_ nice, in fact. Sirius finds himself wandering. It’s huge and sprawling, an assembly of old and new architecture. The big, modern buildings with vast windows remind him of Omaha. He catches the reflection of himself gawping in a passing window and quickly wipes the bemused stare off his face.

He’s meant to be meeting James at the student union when his lectures are done and Sirius realises he’s completely lost. He stops by a patch of green, an open garden of sorts, and fumbles for his phone. There’s a few students wandering briskly by, in pairs or groups, lugging books and bags. Their voices drift over to him, accents startlingly English. It takes him a moment to realise that, not for the first time in his life, he is an outsider.

A brisk Autumn wind buffets him and Sirius interrupts his search for his phone to zip up his jacket. The air smells fresh, cleaner than the city air he’s used to. He inhales deeply, pleasantly surprised by the lack of remorse he feels over leaving Nebraska. He feels himself starting to like England.

Then the heavens decide to open straight over his head.

“Fucking _England_ ,” he makes a bid for the nearest source of shelter, which just so happens to be a large building emblazoned with the letters ‘SU’. He throws open the door and, in doing so, sends somebody flying.

Leaflets are strewn all over the floor: handmade print-outs of poor ink quality, pictures apparently depicting wolves. Their owner, who is pulling himself up from the floor, is copper-haired, sinewy and freckled beyond belief. The hazel-eyed glare he shoots Sirius is like fire and just like that, Sirius is completely taken.

“I’m sorry-” Sirius begins, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish, but the boy interrupts with an irritable click of his tongue, pushing up the sleeves of his oversized, threadbare hoodie as he starts to collect up the scattered leaflets. Sirius helps, passing a handful over, but not before taking a moment to glance over them. Charity advertisement, it seems.

“So, what does ‘ _UKWCT_ ’ stand for?” He attempts a smile.

“UK Wolf Conservation Trust,” the response is curt and impatient, with an accent unlike James’, with strong ‘r’s and soft ‘t’s. “Does what it says on the tin.”

Before Sirius can say anything else, the shorter man is rattling a collection tin directly under his nose expectantly with the glower still present on his face.

“So, given you’ve thrown my leaflets all over the floor, will you be donating?”

Sirius feels that he has no choice but to retrieve some cash out of his wallet, and all he has on him is an embarrassingly green five dollar bill. The lad snatches it out of his hand and holds it up to the light, as though testing it for fabrication, before tutting and stuffing it into his pocket.

“What the hell am I going to do with five _dollars?_ ”

It seems the question is rhetorical, because a moment later, he trudges off, shaking his head exasperatedly. Sirius is left standing silently, feeling humiliated, and feels a rush of relief as he sees the familiar face of James appear at the end of the corridor. He jogs over to him, deciding to keep the encounter, and his embarrassment to himself for now.

That night, he dreams about hazel eyes.

 

 


	2. smoke

When Sirius finally drags himself out the jet-lag induced coma under his duvet, he discovers that Lisa has moved outside and onto the glass of his window; she has worked on a web overnight. The early-Autumn frost has settled as dew on the silk. He nods respectfully at her as he fumbles with the zips on his suitcase to retrieve a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He’ll unpack tomorrow, he decides determinedly. The clock reads two in the afternoon.

He pads out onto the landing, toes cold against the worn-down carpet. He can hear James talking animatedly to someone through the house’s thin walls and upon walking into the lounge, he sees him sat with a red-haired girl who Sirius only recognises from occasional Skype calls with James.

“Nice lie-in? Thought you’d never show your face,” James smirks, “This is Lily, my girlfriend. Lils, Sirius.”

“Nice to finally meet you face-to-face,” Lily flashes a charming smile and a wave.

“You too, you're even more ginger in person,” he offers back, and Lily laughs. Grinning, Sirius takes a moment to wiggle his eyebrows at James as he wanders past the couple into the kitchen.

“Did you buy anything acceptable to eat for breakfast?” He calls back to them as he looks through the cupboards. There is a surplus of biscuits and the occasional tin of soup: Sirius begins to wonder what James usually lives on.

“There’s some cornflakes here,” James says, appearing behind him, reaching into a plastic bag on the side; there’s also a bag of apples and a few sandwich fillers inside. James has clearly outdone himself. Sirius begins to pour the cereal into the bowl as James watches.

“It’s nearly two-thirty, Sirius, are you sure you want to be eating cereal? I can cook you something substantial.”

“Do you even know the meaning of the word? I'm capable of making my own breakfast, Potter,” Sirius rolls his eyes. “What time did Lily get here?”

“I met her after lectures about midday, she wanted to actually meet you,” James admits with a shrug. Sirius narrows his eyes, shoving a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth. James starts walking back to the lounge where Lily lying across one of the tattered, patterned sofas. Sirius pursues.

“What have you told her?” Sirius asks with his mouth full.

“Oh, nothing bad,” James answers. “Just the usual stuff, like why you’re here, how many people you fucked while you were in Thailand, et cetera.”

Sirius punches him in the arm, hard.

Lily’s smile lights up the room as she spots them returning. She sits up.

“James says you’re coming to the bar party tonight,” she hums, “Everyone’s dying to meet you. It’s about time James had a new roommate after the last one.”

“What happened to the last one?” Sirius asks, flopping down on the adjacent sofa.

“He kept ducks,” James explains, and when Sirius raises an eyebrow, he elucidates, “In the house.”

Sirius gives the carpet a suspicious glance, lifting his feet up onto the seat with him, and finishes his cereal.

 

*****

 

The bar is heaving with people.

Lights flash, the music is deafening and the beat vibrates through the floor and up his legs. Sirius hasn't danced in months but he’s certainly dancing now, grinding filthily up against a tall stranger, who has an arm around his waist and his mouth on his neck. James has long since been lost in the crowd.

Sirius feels a hand on his and assumes, in his intoxicated state, that it belongs to his dance partner. That is until he is forcibly dragged away from him, and he comes face to face with Lily, who is definitely _not_ his dance partner. Her grip around his wrist is friendly but firm. She holds out a plastic cup and shouts, but he can’t hear her over the music. Rolling her eyes, she holds the cup up to his face so he takes it and sips. Pulling a face, he looks at her questioningly. Her expression is unimpressed, so he downs the rest of the lukewarm water. This seems to satisfy her and she smiles.

“I'm really glad you came, you know?” She shouts into his ear, up on her tiptoes.

“Me too!” He hollers back, grinning at her. “Although, I don’t know why you pulled me away, I was _enjoying_ that.”

“You've had a bit too much,” she says.

“You are _so_ wise,” Sirius murmurs, nodding.

She snorts with laughter, but as the lights flash across her face, her expression becomes marginally more serious.

“I don’t suppose you've seen James, have you? He went to get me a drink about twenty minutes ago, haven’t seen him since.” The little crease between her eyebrows makes Sirius’ heart ache and he is won over.

“I’ll help you look,” he slides his hand back into hers, so that they don’t lose one another, and her smile is deeply grateful. He can see why James is so fond of this girl, and already Sirius feels warmth towards her, too.

They begin their search. The room is an ocean of people. Any hope of finding James in it seems bleak, but he scrutinises the bar regardless, searching for a glimpse of James’ stupid glasses or a mop of curly black hair. Eventually, their hunt takes them outside, to the smoking area. It’s blissfully quiet and far less busy.

“Sirius!”

The yell comes from behind them and he spins to see James waving from a short distance away. He’s holding two drinks and he passes one to Lily as he approaches.

“Where the fuck did you get to?” Lily asks, taking her drink.

“Lost you, figured you might go outside for air,” he grins sheepishly, before leaning in to press a firm kiss to her lips. A second later, he grabs Sirius. “One for you too, Black!”

James issues a sloppy kiss to Sirius’ lips with a loud ‘ _mwah_ ’, and Sirius grimaces, pulling back to wipe his mouth of the excess saliva.

“ _Lovely_ ,” he says.

Sirius decides he’s going to stay outside to sober up a little, following Lily’s advice, and he waves at them as they head back inside, promising to catch up with them later so they can all get a taxi back. 

The breeze is brisk and cold; the sheen of sweat on Sirius’ bare midriff below his crop-top is steadily drying. Wandering further from the door and away from the busy stream of people entering and leaving the Union, he rounds a corner and finds himself overlooking University grounds once again.

It’s very quiet, besides the dull thump of music from the bar. He’s almost completely alone, but there is a sole figure leaning against the building's wall, face illuminated by the flame of a lighter. There’s a waft of something distinctly herbal which is definitely not tobacco coming from him. As Sirius approaches, he’s shocked to recognise the face of the leaflet-guy from the day before.

“Hey,” he offers a lopsided smile, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious. The freckled bloke glances over at him, eyes distinctly bloodshot. There's a beanie pulled down over his ears this time, probably to keep them warm, but he's wearing the same oversized hoodie as before. He seems to consider Sirius for a few moments, before holding out a lit joint to him. 

“Thanks,” Sirius hums, surprised. He inhales deeply from it, only exhaling again when he speaks, “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday and the leaflets-”

“No harm done,” the stranger says and sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, tilting his head back to stare up at the starless, cloudy sky. “I didn’t manage to get rid of many, anyway.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence between them. Sirius decides to break it.

“So, this charity, ‘ _Wolf Trust_ ’ or something, what do they do?”

“They educate the public about wolves and their conservation in other countries.”

“So, you like wolves?”

“No shit.”

Sirius expects the words to bite but upon glancing across at his face, spots the glimmer of a wry smile. He holds out a hand.

“I’m Sirius.”

There’s a moment of hesitation from the stranger as he glances over, then he shakes it briefly, tapping off the ash from the joint with his other hand.

“Remus.”

Sirius smiles. It’s strangely liberating to know the lad’s name and he commits it to memory. They stand in silence for a while longer, passing the joint between them. Sirius tries to work out how on earth he ended up here, getting high with the same person he’d dreamt about the night before. He tries to fathom why he feels so giddy around him.

He feels the world sway and his head feels like it's being pumped full of helium. The streetlights around the campus are beautifully orange. He watches the progress of the joint from Remus’ hand to his lips, which are plump but chapped. He watches his throat work as he inhales, noting the curious lack of an Adam’s apple, and watches the smoke tendrils curling out from between his teeth.

His gaze stops on Remus’ eyes, which, although red and shrouded by the dark of the night and the mop of fringe, are brilliantly bright. The words come tumbling out of Sirius’ mouth before he can stop them.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Remus’ head whips quickly around to stare at him, taken aback. He looks as though he’s been slapped. There’s a moment of tension so thick that it’s palpable, then Sirius is watching the quickly retreating back of Remus’ head. He doesn’t look back.

Sirius curses himself under his breath, swiftly turning to trudge, round-shouldered, back into the bar to find Lily and James.

 

*****

 

Sirius dreams vividly. Fast-paced and disjointed, the dreams are no doubt induced by the combination of alcohol and drugs consumed that night.

There is skin pressed against skin. He recognises his own hands - dark and speckled with the pales of his vitiligo - pressed against a freckled chest. Limbs move erratically, there are thighs littered with red bruises. He can smell marijuana. His hips are rocking and the spine of his dream-partner arches. There’s a moan and a flash of hazel-

He is jolted awake by the buzzing of his phone by his face.

Taking a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes, the moan still echoing in his head, he sits up, grumbling, and feels something damp against his leg. His stomach sinks and he grimaces, pulling back the duvet to see the embarrassing wet patch on the fabric of his boxers.

Doing his best to ignore the throbbing of his head, which feels like it is playing host to a heavy metal band, he half-falls out of bed and hoists himself up to strip his bed of all linen to throw it into his laundry basket. His stomach grumbles as he picks up his phone to read the text which had roused him. James’ name is flashing across the screen.

‘ _wake the fuck up beautiful ive made pancakes xxx_ ’

He quickly taps out a response letting James know he’ll be down in a bit, and goes to shower.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello loser-nerds, this took longer than i would have hoped to get out, but at least it's here now. 
> 
> we had some questions about the charity that remus supports, so be sure to [check them out](https://ukwct.org.uk/), they do wonderful work!
> 
> again, thanks to my wonderful partner and co-writer, [effie](http://cosettx.tumblr.com)  
> [come and say hi on tumblr](http://pides.tumblr.com), i'm always happy to chat!


End file.
